Plum Bobbing
by Trygvasson
Summary: Basically, the plum bob incident in WMF comes to the masters' attention at the University, and Kvothe ends up in many kinds of trouble, especially when some Ruh show up and trigger his already volatile emotions.


On my way to the Hollows, I stopped to buy a golden brown meat pie from a vendor's cart. I knew I'd need every penny for tuition, but it was worth it... As I finished the last bite, I smelled honeyed almonds and bought a scoop full. There was a long line for admissions. Irritating. I saw a familiar face from the Fishery and went to stand next to a young, green-eyed woman who was waiting to queue up as well.

"Hello there," I said. "You're Amlia, aren't you?"

She gave me a nervous smile and a nod.

"I'm Kvothe," I said with a bow.

"I know who you are. I've seen you at the Artificiary."

"You should call it the Fishery." I held out the pouch. "Honey almond?"

Amlia shook her head.

I shook the bag. "They're really good." She took one. "It's ridiculous that they make us stand around like this," I said. "Like sheep in a paddock. This entire process is a waste of everyone's time and insulting to boot." A flicker of anxiety crossed her face. "What?" I asked.

"You're talking a little loudly..."

"I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking. The whole admissions process is flawed to the point of idiocy!" I bit into another almond and quickly spit it out on the cobblestones. "Feah! Do these taste like plums to you?"

She stared at me, looking vaguely disgusted, but as I continued to chew and spit almonds with equal abandonment and took a moment to casually and crassly insult a passing Ambrose, who merely smirked, her expression quickly changed to curiosity, and even quicker incredulity. "Are you drunk? Or high?"

That was offensive. "I'm not an idiot, friend. I may despise admissions, but I have no intention of paying one iron penny more than I have to!"

Amlia leaned back as I unconsciously glowered at her, but her mien was solidifying into what I would later recall as one of concern and resolve. "Come with me, Kvothe." She held out a hand and drew me towards the double doors behind which the Masters were cloistered for the afternoon's interviews. "Wait here." She whispered urgently into the ear of the El'the minding the door and ducked through. A moment later, she was back and pulling me inside.

I looked around unconcernedly, and offered some almonds to the doorman. He smiled in thanks, and crunched nuts contentedly. I tried another one and spat it out again. "I hate nutmeg," I growled. "Who puts nutmeg on almonds? It's criminal!" I tried another one, then strode directly up to the table where all the Masters were waiting and poured the bag out in front of them, deliberately keeping any out of reach of Masters Hemme and Brandeur. I also spat a showering of saliva-soaked almond fragments over the Chancellor's boots. "Here, someone else finish these. They're spiced all wrong."

The Masters' faces seemed momentarily dumbfounded, but quickly morphed to concern. Mandrag, I noticed, hesitantly picked up an almond and sniffed it.

"I don't know him well, but he's acting so strangely... is he cracked?" Amlia asked hesitantly.

"He shouldn't be," Elodin said seriously, getting up.

I backed away, on guard for the first time, glaring at Amlia. I had no idea yet why she thought something was wrong, and I had no intention of waiting around to find out if there was the slightest chance I might end up in the Rookery for no good reason. I turned to go and was startled to see that the El'the by the door had quietly closed it behind me. I didn't like that. My knife found its way to my hand, and I didn't even notice.

"Steady there, Re'lar," Kilvin said. "What are you doing?"

"His eyes are dilated," Master Arwyl commented suddenly. "Re'lar Kvothe, have you taken something?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?" I shouted angrily. I was so tired of being underestimated and misunderstood...

"Pardon me, gentlemen," Mandrag broke in, "but I doubt he's cracked. Re'lar, do you also taste plum?"

I turned to him suspiciously, raising the cold iron between us. "How could you know that?"

He tossed me an almond. "I don't smell or taste any nutmeg on these. You do."

"Explain, Master Mandrag," the Chancellor commanded.

"There is a kind of alchemy that could explain his behavior, as well as the taste of plums and spices."

" _Plum bob?"_ Arwyl shouted.

"Exactly."

"Re'lar Kvothe, did you eat anything unusual today, besides the almonds?" Arwyl asked. I shook my head, absorbed in wadding up my sleeve to dab at my tongue. Amlia gently dissuaded me from my efforts.

"He wouldn't have to eat it. It can absorb through the skin," Mandrag supplied. "Re'lar, did you perhaps notice anyone acting strangely in your vicinity this morning?"

I looked up at him. "Yes, actually. There was a woman who showed up at Anker's this morning, already drunk, I thought. She bought me a drink for breaking Ambrose' arm, then randomly burst into tears and left."

"Did you notice anything else about her?"

"I can tell you what she looked like."

Arwyl broke in, "But was there anything that would have stood out to you if you were presenting her as a patient in the Medica?"

"Well, not really. She was mostly just surprising. She did have really sweaty hands."

Mandrag nodded thoughtfully and looked grimly at Master Herma, who suddenly twisted in his seat to look to the smaller desk in the corner. "Jamison, we may have a crime on our hands. Would you be so good as to arrange the investigation?" The University Caretaker didn't even pause to close the door as he hurried to comply with the Chancellor's command, dragging the doorkeeper and a half-dozen other senior students milling around the courtyard near the entrance with him.

Arwyl slowly got up and edged around the table. "Kvothe, would you accompany me to the Medica?"

I glared at him warily, convinced that in this particular instance, he actually meant the Rookery. "Why?"

"Ah, well, plum bob is a type of alchemical poison, a subtle one that affects behavior... Remember that it is not usual for you to point knives at your teachers, Re'lar."

The hint went right over my head.

"Give me the knife," Elodin said. "We're not going to lock you up or anything like that."

I absently passed him the blade, still confused. I felt fine. I didn't feel like I was drugged. How could I have been poisoned? Who would have... Ambrose would. "Actually, give it back, Master Elodin. I need it to kill Ambrose after admissions," I said, conversationally.

Amlia gasped beside me, and Kilvin's eyes widened. He looked past me to the students crowding the yard, "Interviews are canceled this afternoon," he shouted. "Everyone here will be rescheduled for the end of the week. Now please clear the area." He grabbed my arm to keep me from leaving too. "Kvothe, we are going to Medica. Now."

.

The afternoon was rather boring for me. I eventually accepted Arwyl's and Mandrag's explanation of their plum bob diagnosis. It helped when I realized that the only reason I remembered when asked that it was _not_ a good idea to jump off a roof was because Elodin was there, a physical reminder of the painful time I had done just that. I really did have no filters. I really could have stabbed one of the Masters in the middle of Hollows. They didn't lock me up, but I was kept under supervision in one of the Medica examination rooms for far too many hours with a couple of Arwyl's most trusted students, both sworn to confidentiality, since I had so little control over what I said and who I said it to. Admittedly, they did keep me from going into town and causing all kinds of havoc, for instance killing Ambrose or perhaps committing malfeasance upon the first rude person I encountered, or embarrassing myself tracking Denna. However, even though I'm sure I would have fought them tooth and nail and screamed the place down, it might have been better if they had put me in the Rookery overnight.

It was just on dinner time when it seemed like the effects of the poison were finally beginning to wane. Most of the students in the Medica were out for the day, leaving just me and my minders, Mola and another El'the, Soolin. I was chattering away about music theory, which now I doubt either of my listeners had any interest in, when we heard shouting from the lobby. Soolin left to investigate first, but soon summoned Mola as well. Unwilling to leave me alone, she took me with her. There was a tear-streaked boy in there, about ten years old, dragging a hand cart containing a bruised, bloody, unconscious young woman, her legs swollen and bent unnaturally in the cramped space.

"Please, help her," he gasped.

Soolin and Mola together checked the girl quickly then got her onto a stretcher. I ran to the store closet in the corner of the room and grabbed a random selection of bandages, medicines, and other equipment for the senior students. "What happened?" Soolin asked.

"Our troupe was attacked a few miles out of town. The others are hurt too, so I had to bring her. Mom and dad..." he broke off, sobbing.

I felt my stomach clenching and looked hard at the boy as I walked back to the group. I knelt and studied the girl's face too. They were Ruh, I was sure. Ruh attacked on the road, half the troupe dead, I surmised, unwillingly transported years through time to the worst night of my young life. I could picture the boy's parents dead among the wrecked wagons. I looked at the girl and saw Shandi's body as it was that last terrible night. I looked up at her brother and saw my own face, stricken and veering towards madness in its grief. I reached out and took his hand. "One family," I said.

"One family," he answered brokenly, falling to his knees. I hugged him. Over his head I saw Soolin meet Mola's eyes, expression grave. She shook her head.

"Where are the rest of you?" Soolin asked gently. "We should alert the constabulary and get help to the rest."

"But what about my sister?"

"I'll stay with her, and Soolin will get the Master Physiker to come in as well," Mola said. "But he's right. If there are other wounded, they need help as well, and protection." The boy grew pale. He was convinced, easily picturing the marauders' return. He fled the building, Soolin close behind him.

"You don't think she's going to make it," I said as they left, fortunately not loudly enough for the boy to hear.

Mola sighed, climbing to her feet. "I know she's not going to make it, Kvothe. She's barely breathing, and with this kind of injury, her heart will not take the strain. We've seen it before. Now, help me move her to another room and set up for the other casualties."

I helped her move the Ruh girl, but I didn't pay attention to where we were going. I was thinking hard. The drug was still playing with my mind, teasing out emotions I had long ago buried deep. Every time I glanced at our patient, I felt a twisting in my soul. Every time I thought of her brother, her troupe, I saw again the dead faces of my own family, tasted the ash of our destroyed homes, felt the dirt of my mother's shallow grave. I couldn't stand the thought of that poor boy losing all, as I had. I couldn't help but vividly remember for the first time in years all that I had lost, the love, the stage, the dancing, the music. A thought occurred to me, a memory of Abenthy, one you already know, which was normally a cautionary one. Now, with the alchemy in my system throwing caution to the wind, I suddenly had an idea.

As we settled the patient on a bench, I noted she had ceased breathing entirely. When Mola left the room to prepare for the other incoming patients, I did not follow as expected. Instead, I felt the girl's pulse, relieved to be able still to find it, though it was weak. I touched her chest and spoke a binding. With a deep, difficult breath, I was pleased to see her chest rise and fall as well. I was even more pleased to find that normal breathing was still pretty easy; my lungs were an excellent mommet for hers and could easily move her air. I just sat with her a moment. She would not die. This family would live.

Then I checked her pulse again and found it faltering. A terrible fear took hold of me, shocking in its nakedness. It was the kind of fear felt by a small child alone in the dark, who has not yet learned to couch his feeling in the rationality of an adult. With it came an unconscionable anger, anger at the world itself. I was not fair for this fate to befall the Ruh again, not fair for me to see my family, One Family, die again. I honed my Alar, touched the girl's chest again, and spoke another binding.

I almost passed out. I did sink to the floor, clinging desperately to consciousness with every fiber of my being even as my heart struggled to match the sudden strain of an extra circulatory system. I closed my eyes, which were losing vision anyways. I took a minute simply to exist and to breathe and to make fast both bindings, trying to find the Heart of Stone despite the crushing pain in my chest and the drug addling my system. I failed in that.

"Kvothe!" I opened my eyes to see Mola hovering over me, looking fairly bewildered. Arwyl had assured her, after all, that plum bob shouldn't cause any serious physical effects at all. "What happened? Are you alright?"

I turned my head slightly to look up at where my cousin rested on the table. "Help her," I whispered.

Mola shook her head. "Kvothe, she's as good as gone. You're the one who needs help now. You were passed out on the floor."

"She's not." I was feeling a little better, and also rather cold. I suppose my body was adjusting to the strain by shutting off circulation to my extremities to save energy. I struggled to sit up, and felt even better. Breathing was much easier sitting up for some reason, and I couldn't at that instant figure out why.

Mola's eyes widened. "You look terrible, pale, like an old man having a heart attack. I can even see all the veins in your neck."

I shook my head wearily. "She has air and a pulse, she's going to be fine. Help her."

Mola reached out for my wrist, trying to check me over, I suppose, and I pushed her away. "Help _her_ ," I insisted.

It was then that Master Arwyl chose to arrive, hastening immediately to the girl on the table. "What are you doing over there, Mola? Come assist me."

"Sir, she came in with crush injuries and her pulse already irregular. There's nothing we can do at this point, and now there's something else wrong with Kvothe."

He hesitated for a moment, then, "She's breathing well, with heartbeat perfectly regular, El'the. If he's not dying, then get up here."

"He might _be_ dying, sir... And how is that possible?" She rose up, looking uncertainly from me to her patient and back.

"I'll be fine if she is," I assured her guilelessly, even though my temporary recovery seemed to be retreating again.

"What is wrong with him?" Arwyl asked irritably, looking over at me for the first time. He stared. "Never mind me, Mola, you have your patient over there, and the instant one of those dratted messengers shows up, send for Mandrag. You might need him."

Mola bent over me again, and I again weakly pushed her away. "I will be fine as soon as you've helped _her_ ," I insisted.

"What makes you so sure about that?" Mola muttered under her breath.

"She isn't breathing. I am."

"What?" Then her eyebrows shot up and cursed impressively. "What exactly did you do, Kvothe?"

"Sympathy," I managed to say between breaths.

She cursed even more impressively. "This is what I get for leaving you alone for two seconds!"

"What are you thinking, Mola?" Arwyl asked.

"I'm thinking Kvothe in his drug-addled, infinite wisdom has just committed suicide. She stopped breathing, her heart stopped beating, so he bound his own heart and lungs to her. Right?"

I nodded, pleased she had understood.

"WHAT?" Arwyl was less than pleased, for some reason. "Re'lar, undo the bindings!"

I shook my head. "She just needs time. She'll live."

"Now, Kvothe! You really will kill yourself!"

I shook my head adamantly. "He'll never be like me. I'm going to save her," I mumbled.

"Leave him and get Elxa Dal, Mola. And Mandrag. Hell, get Elodin while you're at it. Hurry!"

Mola fled. Arwyl got back to work on the girl. He knew his best chance of saving me from my folly was saving the patient. "What are you going to do if your little stunt doesn't work, Re'lar?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have the energy to answer.

In a matter of minutes, Arwyl had done everything he realistically could for his dying patient. When Soolin arrived with the constables and half a dozen other injured Ruh in tow, Arwyl saw them settled, then left Soolin in charge of the triage and returned to sit helplessly in front of me. "Let it go, Kvothe," he said softly.

"I'm going to save her," I answered dully.

"Why? Why risk yourself?"

"One family." It was almost a reflex.

"She may be Ruh, and I know that is a powerful bond, but she's not your sister, Kvothe."

"She's all I've got," I muttered. In that moment, I really believed it, I was so overwhelmed by memory and pain.

"What about your own troupe? Your parents?"

"Gone." My eyes watered.

"Oh." He was silent for a moment. I think he knew I had only told him that because of the plum bob, but he evidently decided the breach of privacy was worth it if he learned some way to convince me to let go of the bindings. "Bandits?"

"No, demons. Cinder. Haliax. The rest of the Seven."

"What are you talking about, Kvothe?"

"Chandrian..."

Elxa Dal walked in, Elodin trailing behind him. They both looked from the girl on the table to me. "What do you expect me to do, Master Physiker?" Elxa Dal asked.

"He's used Sympathy on himself and the girl to keep her alive. He's already half delirious and going to give himself a heart attack, and I don't have the skill to break the bindings."

Elxa Dal settled himself in front of me, frowning. I readied myself to fend him off. "I may not be able to either, yet, and by the time he lets his guard down, it may be too late."

Elodin hovered next to him, then reached over for my hands, pulling my gaze to his, catching me as only a Namer can. He cocked his head to the side. "Why do you say he's delirious, Arwyl?"

"Because the damn fool boy is spouting nonsense about the Chandrian!" the Physiker growled in exasperation. "This isn't a puzzle, Elodin, one of you needs to do something!"

Elodin's eyebrows shot up. "The Chandrian, eh? Well, let's just keep that between us for now. His mind is not altered at the moment, Master Physiker. I would know, and maybe be able to help. If that's a delusion, it was already present."

"Of course it's a delusion!" I considered trying to slap Master Arwyl but decided it was too much work.

"Do you mind?" Elxa Dal broke in, "We need to deal with the present crisis. Master Arwyl, I will certainly attempt to release the bindings, but I'd recommend you come up with a miracle cure for your girl in the meantime."

Arwyl huffed into his beard and muttered, "With luck, at least one of them will live."

So began a battle of wits like none of the Sympathy contests I had before engaged in. Dal was severely limited in what he could do to break my Alar, because too much interference on his part would simply kill me faster. I, on the other hand, had the advantage of temporary insanity on my side, and the option to lash out if I so chose (luckily, that was beyond me at the time). Nevertheless, he was remarkably effective, distracting me and needling my focus almost to fraying. After a couple minutes, I allowed my eyes to close, pouring all my effort into concentrating on the bindings. I lost track of time. I eventually heard Mola return, with Master Mandrag in tow, but there was nothing he could do despite the dire situation. Both of them settled in to wait. I heard Soolin come in and report that the other Ruh were taken care of; then Arwyl sent him off to explain the situation as best he could to any adults left in the group.

The next thing I remembered was the sudden, alarming sensation of my own chest moving of its own accord. My eyes flashed open to see Elodin (of course it was Elodin; only he would think of such a thing) standing over the table, using a hand bellows to make the Ruh girl, and thus me, breathe. I panicked, trying to regain control of the respiratory motion. All I succeeded in doing was stalling our breathing entirely, painful spasms battling each other within my diaphragm and the muscles between my ribs. I tried to breathe faster and found my vision going dark and my heart straining even worse. "Stop it, Elodin, it's not working. You'll end up killing them both," I heard distantly. Then I finally lost consciousness.

.

I awoke the next day on the main ward in the Medica, along with the rest of the Ruh, to find Will and Sim waiting in the chairs near my bed. They spent a long time hugging me, assuring themselves I really was still alive and berating me for my utter foolishness. I felt terribly weak and found I was still gasping for breath any time I tried to talk. Mostly, I just listened as they updated me. By a hearty combination of my intervention, Arwyl's endeavors, an experimental tincture from Mandrag, and shear luck, my patient, a fifteen year old girl named Shayna, was still alive, though unconscious. Apparently, Dal was able to break the bindings I had placed within minutes of my falling unconscious, but she had actually stabilized enough by then that her heart soon restarted on its own. Elodin ended up manning the bellows for several more hours before she started breathing again. Arwyl was so impressed that had worked, he was already planning to design his own artificial resuscitative techniques for the future, though sympathy would not be a part of it.

It still wasn't clear if and when Shayna would wake up, but there was hope. Also, Caretaker Jamison had managed to track down the woman who had come to Ankers', as well as a handful of other strangers she had unknowingly contaminated, all of whom were fortunately identified before anyone did anything too illegal. I had an appointment on the Horns scheduled already, to determine if I knew anything else that might be helpful. I groaned at that news. There was no word yet as to where the poison had come from, or exactly why, but Sim had heard a rumor that Ambrose had been notified and advised to leave for the semester, "for his own safety." Will had to smother me with a pillow at that, as the taste of plum and nutmeg rose up with a string of vitriol that really wasn't appropriate in the hospital setting. Smothering works really well to silence people who are already short of breath, by the way. He only had to do it once for me to give up on speaking for pretty much the rest of the morning.

Soon after they left, Shayna's brother timidly approached, followed by those older members of his troupe that were still able to walk. They each introduced themselves, and the eldest, Besoran, said, "Master Arwyl told us what you did for Shayna. No matter what happens, you have the eternal thanks of this family." He took my hand. "One family."

"One family," I managed to whisper back.

"You are Ruh, we know, but of what troupe?" He asked.

It was with the taste of plum that I finally answered. "Arliden's son. We were Lord Greyfallow's Men."

Besoran's face fell. "I'm sorry. I knew Arliden, once. I always wondered what happened to him and your mother and friends." He took up my hand again. "I am so glad to see you still alive, Kvothe son of Arliden." I nodded but couldn't say anything. Embarrassingly, I found myself crying silently. Frustrated, I let my head fall back; Besoran took that as a sign of fatigue, for he quickly said, "You need rest, as do we all, but I hope to talk with you again later. Thank you, Kvothe." One by one, the others thanked me as well, then retreated to their own beds.

My next visitor, after an hour of dozing, was Master Arwyl, with Mola in tow. I watched listlessly as he expertly checked me over, even breaking out the auscultation tube Kilvin had made up for him recently to listen to my chest and back. He was not happy when he was done. "You really did a number on yourself," he concluded. "Your heart is stunned. It's barely beating, and that's not going to get better in a hurry. You're going to feel like an eighty-year-old for quite a while. Hopefully not forever, but I have very little to base predictions on."

I attempted a grin. "Does that mean I don't have to go on the Horns?"

"Unfortunately not. You're due there tomorrow whether I think you're medically fit or not."

As it turned out, I wasn't medically fit at all. I tried to walk, but it ended up being much easier to let Will and Sim carry me most of the way, Arwyl tut-tutting to the side. When we arrived back in Hollows, Arwyl exclaimed in outrage, "For pity's sake, get him a chair. He's hardly fit to be awake, let alone standing in here!"

I sat, and I barely listened, barely responded. I really didn't have anything of substance to add to the investigation, after all, and having to sit upright without falling over was requiring all my energy. Even Hemme gave up on questioning me when I failed to hear him repeat his question for the third time. Although I wasn't particularly sure why they decided I needed some token form of punishment, if that's what it was, I was able to pull myself together long enough to hear my sentence: confinement to Medica, where Arwyl would be studying the effects of my ill-considered but life-saving Sympathy, until such time as I was deemed fit for release. I would not be permitted to attend classes this semester, because none of the Masters was particularly keen on scooping me up off the floor during a lecture.

I spent the rest of the week resting, burping up the occasional plum taste, and getting to know this troupe of Ruh. Most of them recovered faster than I did, and they got permission to move the remnants of their caravan to the lawn by the Medica for repairs while the more seriously injured recuperated. Arwyl relented after a few days and let me, carefully, visit the wagons, although I can't say I stayed long in the storm of memories. I did come back, though, as I slowly healed. I came back, and I entertained them as they worked with songs played on a borrowed lute, the only instrument to survive the bandit attack unscathed. Breathless still, I couldn't sing, but these Ruh certainly could, and song seemed to bring the battered troupe back to life. This rejuvenation only increased when Shayna woke from her coma and began to make her own, sadly limited, recovery. The poor girl would live and move and even speak a little, but she never really recovered fully. Her legs were too broken and her brain too damaged. Hers would be a hard, sad life, and I'm not sure I did her a favor in prolonging it. Nonetheless, being with the Ruh again was a burning sweetness for me, a recreation of a life I longed for but that still hurt like a belly wound. I found myself thinking, perhaps, since I would not be studying this term, maybe I would go a little way along the road when the troupers finally left. I could help to care for Shayna, help them recoup some of their losses.

As it turns out, I was unable to join them, because that was when I was put on trial for practicing the Dark Arts. My "crime" was calling the wind against Ambrose, of course, but the plum bob incident caused more public outcry and, guilty or not, brought my name to the attention of the local powers that be. The Ruh left well ahead of the trial, ready or not. That's another reason why I learned Tema so fast, by the way: there was very little else to do, since Arwyl didn't release me from the Medica until the day before I went to court.

 **Mostly, I was interested in other characters' reactions to the poisoning if Kvothe hadn't realized and hushed it up so quickly. It would have been a big deal at the University, much more troubling to the masters than routine Name calling. A faster way to boot him out for some adventuring, too. More incidentally, it seemed to me that using sympathy to invent CPR is totally something rash young Kvothe would do, particularly with plum bob taking away that nagging voice of caution. We already know he's not shy to use people as mommets after all.**


End file.
